A Home or a House

I don’t think a home is a place. A house is a location, a place. But a home? It can be anywhere, really. Whether you wake up to birds chirping and sun rays shining down on you, or whether you wake up to the sounds of cars honking and the engine noise of trains; if you’re with the people you love, the people you cherish, it’s home. I firmly believe that. Maybe it’s a song you used to sing with your sister, or just fighting over small things with your brother. Or maybe it’s that one piece of fabric you would always use to sew with your mom, or that now-rusty, deflated soccer ball your dad used to teach you soccer with. It holds your memories, memories of home and the people you love. And I really do believe that’s all it takes to call somewhere “home”. It doesn’t even have to be a proper place- but that’s what I think. So really, what I’ve been trying to say in this paragraph is that home isn’t a place. A home and a house are two different things. And finally, to summarize everything I wrote, home is the people who love you, and the people you love.